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THE TRAPPERS OF ARKANSAS
OR
THE LOYAL HEART
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF
"SMUGGLER CHIEF," "STRONG HAND," "PRAIRIE FLOWER," ETC.
LONDON
WARD AND LOCK, 158, FLEET STREET
LONDON
MDCCCLXIV
PREFACE.
The publication of the present volume of Gustave Aimard's works rendersthe series complete. It takes its place as the first of all: and it issucceeded by the "Border Rifles," "Freebooters," and "White Scalper."In exciting scenes and perilous adventures, this work, if possible,surpasses all those which have as yet been offered to the Englishreader. Moreover it enables the development of Aimard's literary talentto be distinctly traced. The critic will discover, that, at first,Gustave Aimard's brain so teemed with incidents, that he paid slightattention to plot, and hence this volume--as is indeed generally thecase with works relative to Indian life and character--consists ratherof a succession of exciting adventures than of a regularly developeddrama. This fault our Author has corrected in his later works: hishand, at first better suited to wield the bowie knife than the pen, hasregained its pliancy; and the ever increasing encouragement bestowed onhis stories in England, is a gratifying proof that his efforts afterartistic improvement have been fully appreciated.
L.W.
CONTENTS.
PROLOGUE.
I. HERMOSILLO II. THE HACIENDA DEL MILAGRO III. THE SENTENCE IV. THE MOTHER
PART I.
I. THE PRAIRIE II. THE HUNTERS III. THE TRAIL IV. THE TRAVELLERS V. THE COMANCHES VI. THE PRESERVER VII. THE SURPRISE VIII. INDIAN VENGEANCE IX. THE PHANTOM X. THE ENTRENCHED CAMP XI. THE BARGAIN XII. PSYCHOLOGICAL XIII. THE BEE-HUNT XIV. BLACK ELK XV. THE BEAVERS XVI. TREACHERY XVII. EAGLE HEAD XVIII. NO EUSEBIO XIX. THE COUNCIL OF THE GREAT CHIEFS XX. THE TORTURE
PART II.
I. LOYAL HEART II. THE PIRATES III. DEVOTEDNESS IV. THE DOCTOR V. THE ALLIANCE VI. THE LAST ASSAULT VII. THE BATTLE VIII. THE CAVERN OF VERDIGRIS IX. DIPLOMACY X. LOVE XI. THE PRISONERS XII. A RUSE DE GUERRE XIII. THE LAW OF THE PRAIRIES XIV. THE CHASTISEMENT XV. THE PARDON
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER I.
HERMOSILLO.
The traveller who for the first time lands in the southern provinces ofAmerica involuntarily feels an undefinable sadness.
In fact, the history of the New World is nothing but a lamentablemartyrology, in which fanaticism and cupidity continually go hand inhand.
The search for gold was the origin of the discovery of the New World;that gold once found, America became for its conquerors merely astorehouse, whither greedy adventurers came, a poniard in one hand anda crucifix in the other, to gather an ample harvest of the so ardentlycoveted metal, after which they returned to their own countries tomake a display of their riches, and provoke fresh emigrations, by theboundless luxury they indulged in.
It is to this continual displacement that must be attributed, inAmerica, the absence of those grand monuments, the foundation stones asit were of every colony which plants itself in a new country with aview of becoming perpetuated.
If you traverse at the present day this vast continent, which,during three centuries, has been in the peaceable possession of theSpaniards,--you only meet here and there, and at long distances apart,with a few nameless ruins to attest their passage; whilst the monumentserected many ages before the discovery, by the Aztecs and the Incas,are still standing in their majestic simplicity, as an imperishableevidence of their presence in the country and of their efforts to attaincivilization.
Alas! what has resulted from those glorious conquests, so envied by thewhole of Europe, in which the blood of the executioner was mingled withthat of the victims, to the profit of that other nation, at that time soproud of its valiant captains, of its fertile territories, and of itscommerce which embraced the entire world? Time has held on his march,and Southern America is at this hour expiating the crimes of which shewas the instigation. Torn by factions which contend for an ephemeralpower; oppressed by ruinous oligarchies; deserted by the strangers whohave fattened upon her substance, she is sinking slowly beneath theweight of her own inertia, without having the strength to lift theleaden winding sheet which stifles her, and is destined never to awakenagain till the day when a new race, unstained by homicide, and governedby laws framed after those of God, shall bring to her the labour andliberty which are the life of nations.
In a word, the Hispano-American race has perpetuated itself in thedomains bequeathed to it, by its ancestors, without extending theirboundaries; its heroism was extinguished in the tomb of Charles V,and it has preserved nothing of the mother country but its hospitablecustoms, its religious intolerance, its monks, its guitarreros, and itsmendicants armed with muskets.
Of all the states that form the vast Mexican confederation, that ofSonora is the only one which, by its conflicts with the Indian tribesthat surround it, and a continual intercourse with these races, haspreserved a distinctive physiognomy.
The manners of its inhabitants have a certain wild character, whichdistinguishes them, at the first glance, from those of the interiorprovinces.
The Rio Gila may be considered the northern limit of this state: onthe east and west it is bounded by the Sierra Madre and the Gulf ofCalifornia.
The Sierra Madre beyond Durango divides into two chains; the principalcontinues the grand direction from north to south; the other tendstowards the west, running along, in the rear of the states of Durangoand Guadalajara, all the regions which terminate at the Pacific. Thisbranch of the Cordilleras forms the southern limits of Sonora.
Nature seems to have taken a delight in lavishing her benefits upon thiscountry. The climate is clear, temperate, salubrious; gold, silver,the most fertile soil, the most delicious fruits, and medicinal herbsabound; there are to be found the most efficacious balms, insects themost useful for dyeing, the rarest marbles, the most precious stones,as well as game and fish of all sorts. But in the vast solitudes of theRio Gila and the Sierra Madre, the independent Indians, the Comanches,Pawnees, Pimas, Opatas, and Apaches, have declared a rude war againstthe white race, and in their implacable and incessant incursions, makethem pay dearly for the possession of all those riches of which theirancestors despoiled the natives, and which they incessantly endeavour torecover again without ceasing.
The three principal cities of the Sonora are Guaymas, Hermosillo, andArispe.
Hermosillo, anciently Pitic, and which the expedition of the Count deRaouset Boulbon has rendered famous, is the _entrepot_ of the Mexicancommerce of the Pacific, and numbers more than nine thousand inhabitants.
This city, built upon a plateau which sinks towards the north, in agentle declivity to the sea, leans and shelters itself against a hillnamed El Cerro de la Campana (Mountain of the Bell), whose summit iscrowned with enormous blocks of stone, which, when struck, render aclear metallic sound.
In other respects, like its other American sisters, this ciudad isdirty, built of pise bricks, and presents to the astonished eyes of thetraveller a mixture of ruins, negligence, and desolation which saddensthe soul.
On the day in which this story commences, that is to say, the 17thJanuary, 1817, between three and four o'clock in the afternoon, a timewhen the ordinary population are taking the _siesta_ in the most retiredapar
tments of their dwellings, the city of Hermosillo, generally so calmand quiet, presented an unusual aspect.
A vast number of leperos, gambusinos, contrabandists, and, above all, ofrateros, were crowded together, with cries, menaces, and wild howlings,in the Calle del Rosario (Street of the Rosary). A few Spanishsoldiers,--at that period Mexico had not shaken off the yoke of themother country,--were endeavouring in vain to re-establish order anddisperse the crowd, by striking heavily, right and left, with the shaftsof their lances, all the individuals who came in their way.
But the tumult, far from diminishing, on the contrary rapidly increased;the Hiaquis Indians, in particular, mingled with the crowd, yelled andgesticulated in a truly frightful manner.
The windows of the houses were filled with the heads of men and women,who, with looks directed towards the Cerro de la Campana, from thefoot of which arose thick clouds of smoke in large volumes towards theheavens, seemed to be in expectation of some extraordinary event.
All at once loud cries were heard; the crowd divided in two, like anoverripe pomegranate, everyone throwing himself on one side or theother, with marks of the greatest terror; and a young man, or a boyrather, for he was scarcely sixteen, appeared, borne along like awhirlwind by the furious gallop of a half wild horse.
"Stop him!" cried some.
"Lasso him!" cried others.
"_Valgame Dios!_" the women murmured, crossing themselves. "It is thedemon himself."
But everyone, instead of stopping him, got out of his way as quickly ashe could; the bold boy continued his rapid course, with a jeering smileupon his lips, his face inflamed, his eye sparkling, and distributing,right and left, smart blows with his _chicote_ on all who ventured toonear him, or whose unfortunate destiny prevented them from getting outof his way as fast as they would have wished.
"Eh! eh! _Caspita!_" (said, as the boy jostled him in passing, a_vaquero_ with a stupid countenance and athletic limbs,) "Devil takethe madman, he nearly knocked me down! Eh! but," he added, after havingcast a glance at the young man, "if I mistake not, that is Rafael, myneighbour's son! Wait a moment, _picaro!_"
While speaking this aside between his teeth, the vaquero unrolled thelasso which he wore fastened to his belt, and set off running in thedirection of the horseman.
The crowd, who understood his intention, applauded with enthusiasm.
"Bravo, bravo!" they cried.
"Don't miss him, Cornejo!" some vaqueros encouragingly shouted, clappingtheir hands.
Cornejo, since we know the name of this interesting personage, gainedinsensibly upon the boy, before whom obstacles multiplied more and more.
Warned of the perils which threatened him, by the cries of thespectators, the horseman turned his head.
Then he saw the vaquero.
A livid paleness covered his countenance; he felt that he was lost.
"Let me escape, Cornejo," he cried, choking with tears.
"No, no!" the crowd howled; "lasso him! lasso him!"
The populace took great interest in this manhunt; they feared to findthemselves cheated of a spectacle which gave them much satisfaction.
"Surrender," the giant replied; "or else, I warn you, I will lasso youlike a ciboto."
"I will not surrender," the boy said resolutely.
The two speakers still held on their way, the one on foot, the other onhorseback.
The crowd followed, howling with pleasure. The masses are thuseverywhere--barbarous and without pity.
"Leave me, I say," the boy resumed, "or I swear by the blessed souls ofpurgatory, that evil will befall you!"
The vaquero sneered, and whirled his lasso round his head.
"Be warned, Rafael," he said; "for the last time, will you surrender?"
"No! a thousand times no!" the boy cried, passionately.
"By the grace of God, then!" said the vaquero.
The lasso whizzed and flew through the air.
But a strange thing happened at the same moment.
Rafael stopped his horse short, as if it had been changed into a blockof granite; and, springing from the saddle, he bounded like a tigerupon the giant, whom the shock bore down upon the sand; and beforeanybody could oppose him, he plunged into his throat the knife which allMexicans wear in their belts.
A long stream of blood spouted into the face of the boy, the vaquerowrithed about for a few seconds, and then remained motionless.
He was dead!
The crowd uttered a cry of horror and fear.
Quick as lightning, the boy had regained his saddle, and recommenced hisdesperate course, brandishing his knife, and laughing with the grin of ademon.
When, after the first moment of stupor had passed, the people turned topursue the murderer, he had disappeared. No one could tell which way hehad gone. As is generally the case under such circumstances, the juezde letras (criminal judge), accompanied by a crowd of ragged alguaciles,arrived on the spot where the murder had been committed when it was toolate.
The juez de letras, Don Inigo Tormentes Albaceyte, was a man of somefifty years of age, short and stout, with an apoplectic face, who tooksnuff out of a gold box enriched with diamonds, and concealed under anapparent _bonhomie_ a profound avarice backed by excessive cunning and acoolness which nothing could move.
Contrary to what might have been expected, the worthy magistrate didnot appear the least in the world disconcerted by the flight of theassassin; he shook his head two or three times, cast a glance round thecrowd, and winked his little grey eye,--
"Poor Cornejo!" he said, stuffing his nose philosophically with snuff:"this was sure to happen to him some day or other."
"Yes," said a lepero, "he was neatly killed!"
"That is what I was thinking," the judge replied; "he who gave this blowknew what he was about; the fellow is a practised hand."
"Humph!" the lepero replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, "he is aboy."
"Bah!" the judge said, with feigned astonishment, and casting anunder-glance at the speaker; "a boy!"
"Little more," the lepero added, proud of being thus listened to; "itwas Rafael, Don Ramon's eldest son."
"Ah! ah! ah!" the judge said, with a secret satisfaction. "But no," hewent on, "that is not possible; Rafael is but sixteen at most; he wouldnever have been so foolish as to quarrel with Cornejo, who, by onlygrasping his arm, could have disabled him."
"Nevertheless, it was as I tell your excellency,--we all saw it. Rafaelhad been playing at _monte_, at Don Aguillar's, and it appears that luckwas not favourable to him; he lost all the money he had; he then flewinto a rage, and to avenge himself, set fire to the house."
"Caspita!" said the judge.
"It was just as I have the honour to tell your excellency; look, thesmoke may yet be seen, though the house is in ashes."
"Well, it seems so," the judge said, turning his eyes to the pointindicated by the lepero. "And, then----"
"Then," the other continued, "he naturally wished to escape. Cornejoendeavoured to stop him."
"He was right!"
"Well, he was wrong, I think; for Rafael killed him!"
"That's true! that's true!" said the judge; "but be satisfied, my goodpeople, justice will avenge him."
This promise was received by all present with a smile of doubt.
The magistrate, without concerning himself about the impression producedby his words, ordered his acolytes, who had already examined andplundered the defunct, to take the body away, and transport it to theporch of the nearest church, and then returned to his residence, rubbinghis hands with a satisfied air.
The judge put on a travelling dress, placed a brace of pistols in hisbelt, fastened a long sword to his side, and, after taking a lightdinner, went out.
Ten alguaciles, armed to the teeth, and mounted on strong horses,waited for him at the door; a domestic held the bridle of a magnificentblack horse, which pawed the ground and champed the bit impatiently. DonInigo placed himself in the saddle, headed his men, and the troop wentoff at a ge
ntle trot.
"Eh! eh!" said the curious, who were stationed around upon thedoorsteps. "The Juez Albaceyte is going to Don Ramon Garillas's; weshall hear some news tomorrow."
"Caspita!" others replied; "his picaro of a son has fairly earned thecord that is to hang him!"
"Humph!" said a lepero, with a smile of regret; "that would beunfortunate! the lad promises so well! By my word, the _cuchillada_ hegave Cornejo was magnificent. The poor devil was neatly killed."
In the meantime, the judge continued his journey, returning withpunctuality all the salutations with which he was overwhelmed on hisway. He was soon in the country.
Then pulling his cloak tighter round him, he asked,--
"Are the arms all loaded?"
"Yes, excellency," the chief of the alguaciles replied.
"That's well. To the hacienda of Don Ramon Garillas, then; and at asmart pace; we must endeavour to get there before nightfall."
The party set off at a gallop.